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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23899864">you don't have to say you love me, just be close at hand</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/hannahnyrie/pseuds/hannahnyrie'>hannahnyrie</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Killing Eve (TV 2018)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Eve is angry, F/F, Soft Villanelle | Oksana Astankova, They're still going to kiss on the bus because that scene is my lifeblood</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-04-28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-04-29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 17:14:18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,012</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23899864</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/hannahnyrie/pseuds/hannahnyrie</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
      <p>hello friends, as i've been the human equivalent to a trash can for the past 2 days, i've decided to find some release in writing about these fools in love. i'd love and appreciate any feedback you'd deign to give me. i'm kind of just seeing where this fic will take me, it will definitely get smutty eventually, and it will probably veer away from canon depending on how the rest of the season plays out.</p><p>if you'd like to join me in my dumpster, my tumblr is @prepxn</p><p>:D</p>
    </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Eve Polastri/Villanelle | Oksana Astankova</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>20</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>you don't have to say you love me, just be close at hand</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>hello friends, as i've been the human equivalent to a trash can for the past 2 days, i've decided to find some release in writing about these fools in love. i'd love and appreciate any feedback you'd deign to give me. i'm kind of just seeing where this fic will take me, it will definitely get smutty eventually, and it will probably veer away from canon depending on how the rest of the season plays out.</p><p>if you'd like to join me in my dumpster, my tumblr is @prepxn</p><p>:D</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>Villanelle </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Barcelona, 2:47 pm </em>
</p><p>Barcelona bustles, like any good city is called to do, in tune with the mosaic grayness of buildings arching towards the sky. Although man-made, there occasionally seems to be a kind of natural growth pattern to the high-rises; the foundation, like soil, has given birth to weak, green tendrils that swirl and beam upwards, aiming to settle into simple, passive geometry. Of course, this is a silly human thought. The idea that everything has some grand, primitive origin story – some kind of meaning that can redeem whatever has corrupted the final product.</p><p>No, it's just a stack of bricks. Laid up and up by hands. No questions asked.</p><p>Still, this is all taunted by the languid strips of green running throughout the city like small waves lapping up to say hello. They can't be called parks, not really, because they're small and surrounded by society. But laying down on the grass, back stretched, eyes intent on the sky – it can feel like an escape. A temporary one. Not <em>the</em> escape.</p><p>A long, blonde hair lays lifeless and detached across an anthill. The ants will have nothing to do with it, but the blades of grass harness it like a prison cell, so it is unable to dance with the breeze. But it's dead, detached, and so beneath notice that it might as well not exist at all.</p><p>The hair lays minutely close to its old home, to its now empty follicle. Thousands of strands flow luxuriously from this source. They mingle with the grass, free to play with other life, very unlike their fallen soldier.</p><p>And maybe it's this stretch of green, and the slow breeze taunting the atmosphere, that makes Villanelle really consider the clouds above her, and the space surrounding her. It's Barcelona, she's been here for months, but it honestly might as well be Moscow, Berlin, Paris… London. She's been traveling around as she always does, seeing lots of grass, lots of blue sky to taunt her senses. More women, one of whom she chose to marry. It's a small detail.</p><p>Now she's thinking about Konstantin, and his beard, and his presence in her new home, like a bulbous paperweight keeping the whole page dominated. She grabs a fistful of grass and squeezes – some moisture wets her fingers. So agitating – his demeanor, his obvious sense of authority, coupled with his disgustingly apologetic posture. Villanelle doesn't need apologies – doesn't want them, she never has. What's the use? The moment of betrayal and the moment of atonement are separate, having nothing to do with each other, except for that shared aim of selfishness. He betrayed her to have his family, to make them happy. Now, he's apologizing to Villanelle, to make her happy. Emotions are often just used as tools for a person's end goal.</p><p>"Why do people want an end?" Villanelle scoffs, resting her cheek against a leaf.</p><p>It's hard, though, to think about what Konstantin had said to her. What he had told her. So casually mentioned; thrown in her face like it was nothing at all. Like Eve being alive represented nothing more than just a possible obstacle for her next job. Villanelle felt her head swimming as he told her, as if her thoughts wanted to break free and go somewhere else – to go and be safe somewhere else. Her heart expanded, brushing against her ribs, and she felt sweaty and cold simultaneously.</p><p>
  <em> Too much. </em>
</p><p>To her horror, it's still too much a few hours later, even under the sky. There should be a sense of openness out here, especially with her back prone to the earth as it is now. When Konstantin left, she sat on the floor, hugging her knees tight to her chest. It's like her entire essence was fluttering – she cried a little, allowing the full bloom of emotion to trickle out of her. She smiled and even laughed a bit, mostly due to the suddenness of the news – the mania it resulted in. Villanelle likes big feelings and passion: they aren't boring. Passion builds its own world. It harnesses all feeling; hell, it harnesses one's entire body until the whole world is a different color.</p><p>Villanelle can't tell which color her world is, after Eve. It must be sharp, maybe a primary color. No, it has to be layered, it has to be the manifestation of multiple colors. The surface pigment has to be ripped from some ancient source like a cave. Villanelle thinks about a cave – the damp darkness and the bats and the stony horizons. She'd like to find Eve in one, or maybe find one with Eve.</p><p>Eve makes her think of the adventure life can be, with all the swirling turmoil of a heart pumping towards those small moments of infinity. And it's becoming glaringly obvious that Villanelle doesn't want to go towards anything, unless it's to Eve, or <em>with</em> Eve.</p><p>
  <em>Walk next to me. Please come with me, wherever we need to go. Or hide. Millions of miles away from me, please. I'll find you. I want to cross the world for you. I want to find you at the end of it all.</em>
</p><p>It's with a huff that Villanelle sits upright on the grass, feeling dizzy from the motion. The buildings twirl in her vision and she can't see the sky except for its unending influence on everything below. She reaches a hand up to scratch at her neck and finds a ladybug inching across her skin. She lets it crawl onto her palm, watching its small dotted wings beat loosely – as if in defeat. Villanelle chuckles softly.</p><p>"I'll take you home, yes?" She whispers into her hand, then releases a sort of half-sigh, tinged with seriousness, "I'll keep you hidden from everybody. You won't belong to anybody else. I found you, I saved you, I didn't kill you. You need me."</p><p>The ladybug seems to take a seat in her hand. Villanelle grins, slowly standing. "Let's go for a walk, no? Tell me, what kind of movies do you like?"</p>
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